


The Madness of King Thorin II

by badskippy



Series: Bagginshield One-Offs [12]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskippy/pseuds/badskippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a moment when Thorin believed he had lost everything ... well, lost the someone who was everything.  </p><p>Now, he relives it over and over and over in his dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Madness of King Thorin II

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came about because of a Tumblr post that I REFUSED to leave be ...

* * *

Like the breath of death itself, the chilled air swirled about Thorin's feet like an icy fog. Yet he felt neither the cold nor dread as he slowly stalked forward with Orcrist in his hand, at his side, towards his mortal enemy. 

Azog, in contrast, stood patiently and silently, waiting, knowing as Thorin did that this small battle, this confrontation, this poisoned bond between them had run its course, and the time to end it, one way or another, was at hand.

In what seemed at times both slow motion and blurred movements, the two leaders clashed upon the frozen waterfall of Raven Hill; Orcrist sang it’s elegant but deadly song as it connected over and over with the grotesque appendage, that hideous blade, that replaced Azog’s left forearm. 

However, Azog had not come this far to leave everything down to just the striking of swords, so he had brought with him a boulder-like Flail, monstrous in it’s vile construction, which he swung around about him, attempting to either kill Thorin outright or send the Dwarf-king to the ground and there to finish him. Thorin, in contrast, had no need for another weapon, for he had his single-minded focus set squarely on the creature before him and he would not be dissuaded by anything or anyone from the task at hand.

_No, that wasn’t entirely true._

In the furthest reaches of his mind and heart, there was a single voice that colored the match more than anyone. _You are changed, Thorin,_ it whispered, hurt and pleading. _The Dwarf I met in Bag End …_

Yes, Thorin would gladly admit that he had changed, because before he would have charged Azog without concern, without care, without a single thought beyond ‘kill.’ But now, thanks to the soft voice and sound advice of the gentlest being he had ever come to know, Thorin’s focus was one of cunning and design. Thanks to a most unwarrior-like burglar, Thorin had learned that not all fights are won with crash of swords.

With all that in mind, Thorin rolled away from Azog’s Flail, knowing that the ice broke in a near perfect circle, he danced just out of reach so that Azog grew frustrated and angry, which in turn made him careless and oblivious, and when Thorin threw down his sword, picked up the chained stone and threw it at Azog, it was only then that the Pale Orc realize he had been played the fool. Thorin watched as anger and hatred played across the scarred flesh of Azog’s face; even in his last moments, the great Orc would not let go of his loathing. 

As Azog slipped beneath the slow flowing river, Thorin watched, walking slowing, following, as the beast’s body floated just below the glass-like ice; Azog’s blue eyes almost as blue as the water. Thorin wanted nothing more at that point then to watch his nemesis’ body as it tumbled over the edge of the falls and crash to the rocks below; a fitting end to the one that had brought so much pain and misery to the line of Durin.

Thorin was almost light-headed; it was over.

Or so he wanted to believe.

In a final surge of strength, Azog drove his sharpened, steel prosthetic up and through the ice, piercing Thorin’s foot and pinning the king in place and giving the great Orc the leverage he needed to heave himself upward and through the ice. Thorin was unable to maintain his balance and slipped, falling onto his back. Now towering over Thorin, Azog released a snarl and brought his blade down in what was to be a death strike. But Thorin brought Orcrist up and countered Azog’s downward thrust with an upper one of his one. For long moments they held their positions, each pushing against the other, Azog leaning forward with all his weight to drive his sword home while Thorin, pressed up, turning desperate for something, anything that could give him an advantage, a way out. 

But Thorin knew there was only one way out; sacrifice.

As blood rushed in his ears, an eerie silence filled the world until Thorin only heard the ticking beat of his heart. In slow, morbid motion, Thorin withdrew his sword, giving Azog’s sword a clear path to the Dwarf-king’s chest. The Pale Orc sneered in his perceived triumph and lunged forward to bury his weapon deep into Thorin’s body.

But the Orc was too late.

Azog froze, stilled as a great gurgling sound erupted from his mouth, followed by his own black blood as it began to bubble and flow over his lower lip and chin. Azog shuttered as if something was being driven deeper into him and more blood rushed out of his maw.

Thorin could only gape at the turn of events, but then there was a flicker of light as the tip of Bilbo’s sword became visible, sticking out of Azog’s chest, as at the same time Bilbo himself became visible over Azog’s shoulder, pushing hard on the hilt of Sting with one hand and stowing something small into his pocket with the other.

“What a surprise to run into you again,” Bilbo said dryly; clearly not above giving the Orc snark as he took the beast’s life.

Thorin could have laughed with joy but his joy was short lived. With his last dying breath, Azog reached over his shoulder, grabbed the unprepared Hobbit and flung Bilbo away, like a small rodent or pest; flung him towards the frozen waterfall. Bilbo didn’t have time to gain traction or handhold on the slippery surface and he flailed about as he skidded over the edge and into the abyss.

“BILBO!” Thorin bellowed as he moved to race over to the falls; he would have gone over the falls himself but as he came to a halt, he was amazed and shocked to see, not Bilbo lying on the rocks below but clinging desperately to a large icicle that dangled above the long drop.

“Bilbo!” Thorin quickly got on his belly and reached. “Give me your hand!”

Bilbo had a grip with both hands on the dagger of ice, but would it be so firm if he were to let go with one? No. Thorin would have to grab his burglar on his own.

Thorin stretched as far as he could, willing his arm to grow just one more inch, but it was perilous; a couple of times he almost slipped himself and if he went over the edge, he would probably take Bilbo with him.

“Thorin,” Bilbo whispered loudly. “Don’t.”

“Stay still. I’m not going to let you fall.” He refused to even consider it.

Bilbo, however, looked unnervingly calm. “Your people need you; don’t risk it.”

“I’m not letting you go!”

“It’s not you that has to let go.”

_No._ “Don’t you dare let go, Bilbo Baggins!” Thorin reached, he was could almost touch the tips of Bilbo’s fingers with the tips of his own.

“To save you?” Bilbo said, a soft smile gracing his beautiful face. “My life would be a small price to pay.”

“That’s a lie!” Thorin snarled out both frustration and fear. He could not risk losing Bilbo again. “Your life is beyond worth!” 

He was almost there; he could feel the heat of Bilbo’s hand, but that was when Bilbo slipped a fraction of an inch away.

“It’s been an honor to follow you.” Bilbo’s resigned smile pulled at Thorin greater than the Dwarf thought possible.

Thorin could not let it end like this! He wouldn’t! They had too much to live for, to give each other, to share together. A whole life together if Thorin had his way. “The honor has been mine, Bilbo.” Thorin heard his back crack as he continued to stretch his arm to its limit; his chest protested at the pressure of being pushed into the ice.

“When you think of me—”

“Don’t say that!”

“—remember me not for my theft—”

“You’re going to live!”

“—but as the one who tried to help you—”

“I’ve almost got you!”

“—because how could I not, when—”

“Bilbo! Don’t you let go!”

“—you are the only one I ever loved.”

“BILBO, REACH FOR ME!”

Thorin’s fingers made tentative contact, but as he wrapped his hand around Bilbo’s smaller one, the melting ice and water were too much and Thorin found that he was only grasping air as Bilbo slipped completely and fell.

“NOOOOOOO!” Thorin’s scream filled the world and the world stood still.

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

As Thorin sat up, gasping for air, the taste of his scream still on his lips, he realized that he was in a darkened room, the only light was the dim glow of the hearth where the fire had burned down to embers. 

_I lost him! I lost him and it was my fault; I failed him completely!_

The doors of his room burst open and four guards rushed in with swords and axes at the ready, clearly willing to fight whatever demon or creature had come to attack their king.

“Stand down,” a soft voice sounded, just as there was a strike of a match and a candle flared to life.

Thorin turned and froze.

 _How can this be! This can’t be real._ Bilbo was there, next to him, dressed in a pristine white dressing gown and pushing back the furs and covers of his bed; _their bed!_ But his mind was clearing and Thorin knew it not to be a trick.

The guards, however, didn’t notice Thorin’s confusion and simply gave Bilbo a look of utter noncompliance with his words. It was as one of them gave Bilbo a small sneer that Thorin snapped to action.

“You heard the consort!” Thorin growled. “You will obey his command!”

That got the appropriate response.

“Yes, your majesty.” “Right away, sire.” “As you wish, my king.” “At your service, my liege.”

“You will leave us in peace,” Bilbo said. All the guards fumbled and stumbled their way into back out of the room. As the doors closed, Bilbo was up and out of the bed, coming around to stand in front of Thorin. “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.

Thorin couldn’t speak; he simply pulled and cradled Bilbo to his chest, breathing in deep the smell of his love, Bilbo’s essence reminded Thorin of fresh grass and tilled earth, the faint scent of lavender mixed with the fragrance of the goat’s milk soap that Bilbo made himself.

Bilbo did not resist, but merely hugged Thorin back, giving the Dwarf-king comfort that he knew Thorin needed. “What’s wrong?” Bilbo asked gently.

“You died,” Thorin answered honestly. “I watched you fall from Raven Hill Falls and you died.”

“No, Thorin.”

“You did! I saw it happen.”

“No, Thorin, you didn’t.”

Thorin pulled back and cupped Bilbo’s face, leaning in to kiss his love. _Yes, he is real and he is here, with me!_ “It was so real.”

“Because it was real, my sweet.”

Thorin was confused; didn’t Bilbo just say—

“I did fall,” Bilbo said, “But don’t you remember what happened after?”

Thorin swallowed and thought on it. No, he couldn’t remember just then.

“Your scream alerted the Eagles nearby,” Bilbo continued. “And Gandalf, who was just below, had just enough time to slow my descent and Gwaihir himself saved me at the last moment.”

Like a sputtering flame coming back to life, Thorin’s memory rush forth and, yes, he remembered now. He remembered the relief and the joy, the elation, of Bilbo’s rescue and he remembered his tears as he was finally reunited with his love on solid ground, kneeling before Bilbo and begging forgiveness for all that he had done, all that he had failed to do and promising everything within his power to right his wrongs; knowing that he could never repay half of what Bilbo was worth to him.

Once more Thorin pulled Bilbo to him and wept, for what Thorin remembered above all else, was how close he came to losing the one thing he could never replace.

“It’s all right, my love,” Bilbo said gently, running his fingers through Thorin’s mane of hair. “It was just a dream.”

“I’m sorry,” Thorin whispered hoarsely. “You must think me mad.”

Bilbo released a little giggle and hugged Thorin more tightly. “If love be a madness, then I will gladly go mad with you.”


End file.
